Praeclarus
by Kathryn Sabourin
Summary: AU John and Sherlock adopt a baby. (Johnlock/parentlock) Warning: As she gets older, the themes get more mature.
1. Welsh for Primrose

"Greg says they'll be over in five minutes."

Sherlock nodded, and continued pacing back and forth in front of the window. John had never seen the detective so nervous before. He walked up to him, and wrapped his arm around his waist. "Relax, it'll be fine."

The detective looked down at his husband. John was as equally nervous, but was doing a better job at concealing it.

"What will your mother think?"

John snorted. "She's been dying for grandchildren, and was counting on me to provide her with some after Harry married Clara. She was the only reason we had an actual wedding. After Harry eloped, Mum told me that if I ever did that, they'd never find my body."

"Visits with your mother are always interesting."

"She's just been through a lot. My father walked out on us when I was fifteen, Harry became an alcoholic, I joined the military, and then both of her children turned out to be gay. She can't help it."

A knock on the door interrupted them.

"Are you ready?"

The detective nodded. He arranged himself on the couch, and John let Lestrade in, who was closely followed by Sally. He held a small pink bundle, and Sally carried the car seat, along with a small diaper bag. She set them by the kitchen table, and after shooting a disgusted look at Sherlock, exited the flat.

The D.I. handed John the infant.

"God, she's tiny."

"She was abandoned by St. Barts, estimated only three weeks old. Have, uh, you two decided on a name, yet?"

Sherlock chuckled as he remembered the conversation he and John had had earlier in the week.

"_River Elisabeth?"_

"_John, we're not naming our daughter after a 'Doctor Who' character. What about Imogen?"_

"_Definitely not. Addyson?"_

"_Mmm, no. Briallen?"_

"_That's actually beautiful. Welsh, right?"_

"_Correct. Primrose, which is close enough to Billie Piper's character, no?"_

_John chuckled. "Yeah, it is. What about middle?"_

"_Aderyn. Also Welsh, raven. Have you given any thought as to whose surname she'll have?"_

"_Yours."_

_That was enough to get Sherlock to stop playing his violin. "Really?"_

"_Yeah, I've thought about it, and I decided that she should have yours. And with a name like Briallen Aderyn, she might as well be a Holmes."_

"Yes. Briallen. It's Welsh for primrose," John responded.

"I'll let you two have some privacy as soon as this paperwork's filled out."

Sherlock signed off on the forms, and filled out the necessary information.

"I'll leave you two alone, then. If there's any trouble, just phone."

After the D.I.'s exit, John sat next to Sherlock on the couch, and allowed him a better look at their daughter.

She had pale skin, and dark black curls. She could pass as Sherlock's actual child if it weren't for the eyes, which were a dazzling bright green.

Sherlock gently took her from his partner, and she cooed at his touch. The detective cradled her protectively. "Briallen," he murmured. As he stared at her, he knew that he had made the right decision; one that John wasn't so keen on a week ago.

"_Sherlock, you can't seriously be suggesting that we bring a _child_ into this flat, are you? We're barely safe, how could we guarantee that she would be as well?"_

"_I'm not saying that there wouldn't be risks, I'm saying that you've always talked of having children, John, and we can't necessarily have any on our own-"_

"_I'm a doctor, I have unpredictable shifts. You solve crimes. We get nut jobs in here all the time. Who would watch her when we're gone?"_

"_John, although you might not see it this way, I do have the ability to distance myself from cases-"_

"_Since when? You shot the wall because you were bored, goddamit."_

_The detective approached his partner, who had been updating his blog. He kneeled so as to be eye level with him, and tried a gentler approach. "John, I can take time off. It'll be strange at first, but it'll be like…an experiment. I highly doubt that I will be bored trying to care for a baby. And surely you could work something out with the hospital?"_

_John took a deep breathe, and looked Sherlock straight in the eye, keeping his voice as equally calm. "Sherlock, are you sure that you want to do this?"_

"_I am."_

_It was a moment before John spoke again. "Alright. We'll talk to Greg more about it in the morning."_

And now, as Sherlock gazed at the now sleeping infant, he knew that as always, he was right.

"Praeclarus," he murmured. "Beautiful."


	2. An Experiment

"Prim, no running!" John tried in vain to calm the six year old chasing her best friend, Molly Hooper, around the flat. She only burst into a fit of giggles, and then disappeared into the couple's bedroom. Sherlock emerged a moment later, leading Molly and carrying Briallen out. He whispered something into his daughter's ear, she eagerly nodded, and the detective set her down.

He went over to his partner. "How much more time do you need?"

"At least ten minutes," the exasperated doctor pleaded.

"Done."

John had been trying to fix lunch, but kept having to stop what he was doing to wrangle the girls. As usual, it was his own daughter who was causing the most disruption. Molly tended to just nod or shake her head in response, but Briallen often spoke for her.

Sherlock cleared off a section of the kitchen table. "Girls, do you want to try an experiment?"

Briallen squealed and clapped her hands and Molly, although not as exuberant, looked equally as excited.

"What kind, Papa?"

"Well aren't you impatient, Praeclarus." She giggled at his pet name for her. He often spoke to her Latin.

The detective grabbed two eggs out of the fridge, along with two glasses, two tablespoons, the bag of salt, and a pitcher of water. Placing the glasses on the table, he filled them both about halfway with water. He handed each girl an egg.

"Put your egg in your glass of water."

"But Papa, it will sink!"

"You're correct, but see it for yourselves."

Both girls followed his instructions, and as Briallen predicted, the eggs sank to the bottom of their glasses.

"Now, carefully fish them out with the spoons."

The girls did as told.

"Each of you now add six spoonful's of salt into your glasses, and carefully stir it up."

When they completed their task, he poured more water into each glass, nearly filling them to the brink.

"Put the eggs back into the water. Watch what happens now."

Excited gasps followed. The eggs had only sunk halfway down, seemingly floating in the middle of the glass.

"Papa, how does it do that?"

"Saltwater is denser than regular water. That means that it is easier to float in it. The saltwater only fills the bottom half of the glass. So, when the eggs sunk through the plain water, they stopped when they reached the saltwater."

Molly nodded, while Briallen's brow furrowed in deep concentration. She lowered her head to study her glass better.

"But wouldn't adding more water on top of it displace the saltwater?"

Sherlock smiled, and John, who had been watching them, chuckled. Their daughter was constantly trying to one-up the detective. Even at six, she was making deductions that would impress even Sherlock.

"Not if the plain water was added carefully."

"Okay, time to clean up the table. Lunch is ready."

The girls scoffed down their Mac & Cheese, and Mrs. Hudson brought up a plate of freshly baked brownies afterwards. After struggling with and bribing them for another hour, the couple finally managed to put the pair down for a nap.

Sherlock lay out on the couch, and John, exhausted, fell into his chair.

"Why, why, _why, _do they have so much energy?"

"Well, studies show-"

"You know what I mean."

Sherlock opened his arms, inviting the doctor in. John gladly lay next to his partner, who wrapped his arms around the doctor.

"I'm glad we did it."

"Did what?" the detective asked, slightly confused.

"Accept Greg's offer and adopt her. She's the best thing to happen to us."

"Are you ready for another one?"

"Oh dear God, no. One is enough for now. And Molly practically lives with us, anyway. I actually prefer it when Molly's here; I have a bad feeling about the things that go on in her house."

"I noticed. I wasn't sure if you did. Molly's behavior is a textbook analysis of an abusive home: Shyness, doesn't often speak up, always wears long-sleeves, will not argue under any circumstance, and is terrified of shouting and banging."

"She came to me the other day, saying that she tripped and cut her knee. While I was fixing it up, I saw bruises and abrasions all along her leg. When she saw that I noticed, she wouldn't come near me for the rest of the day. I called Greg not long after she left, and told him my suspicions. He said he'd look into it."

"Have you noticed any new bruises or lacerations on her since?"

"No. But if I do, I'll wring the bastards' necks."

"I wouldn't stop you."

"Are you kidding me? You'd help me with it!"

That actually got a deep laugh from the detective. He held his partner closer, and kissed him.

"That I would."

**Reviews, as always, are helpful!**


	3. The Present Deduction

**Mini-chapter!**

"Which one is that, Papa," the detective's nine year old daughter asked with a gleam in her eye. One of her favorite pastimes was watching her father play his violin. Her eyes always followed his fingers intently, watching his fingers dance on the strings.

"Praeclarus."

She giggled. "Is it for me?"

"Possibly." He winked, and she called out to John in the other room, "Daddy, Papa's writing a song for me!"

The doctor entered, carrying a bright green envelope. "Is he? I thought that one sounded new."

Briallen had been sitting in his chair; her arms were wrapped around her knees, which were pulled up to her nose. She nimbly climbed down, and ran to her father. "What's that, Daddy? Is it my present?"

John looked down at his daughter. At nine years old, her four foot four inch frame made her look even younger than she was. Her long, wispy, wavy, black hair reached her waist, and clearly hadn't been combed yet. Although at first glance her lean frame made her appear fragile, but he knew that was the opposite. Her weight was mostly muscle, due to rigorous hours of training in the studio and in the gym.

"Your present? Why would I give you a present? Is today something I should know about?" he teased.

"Daddy!" She took a moment to observe him, and then launched into one of her deductions. "Your face is shaven, and your hair is trimmed. You're also wearing your favorite jumper, meaning that today is something important. That envelope is the same shade of green as my eyes, and has 'Praeclarus' written on the back of it. That could only mean that it is addressed to me. Mrs. Hudson's been baking all morning, so either she has family coming, which is unlikely, or she is preparing for a party. Your address book has been stationary for the past forty-eight hours. If you were going out, or had some other big event planned, you would have moved it around more frequently. As you haven't, that means that whatever event you are attending is taking place here. It's December 18, and there are no other major events taking place within a two mile radius today. Therefore, it's my birthday party, and that's my present."

The doctor stared incredulously as his daughter. "How?"

"I simply observed."

"She's your child, alright, Sherlock."

"And she didn't miss a beat," the detective added.


	4. He Found Me

John walked into the living room to see Briallen and Molly lying on their stomachs hunched over something.

"No, I'm not pushing you to do it; I'm just saying that it is an amazing opportunity. Seriously consider it before you turn it down."

"It's not like my parents will support it either way. If anything, they'll tell me to not do it due to the cost."

"But you don't even live with them. What about Susan and Chris? Wouldn't they help you with it?"

"Yeah, but it wouldn't be fair to ask them for the money."

"Why not? They're your aunt and uncle. They treat you better than your own parents."

"Ever since Dad left, Mum's been okay. I'm able to visit her and Jason. He makes Mum better."

The doctor cleared his throat. "What are you looking at, girls?"

Briallen brought a letter over to him. "Molly got accepted into a science camp in Cardiff. They sent this to her because she's brilliant, but she doesn't think that she should go because it's for three weeks, and there's a fee for attending."

"Well, there are, um, other factors that, um, actually go into my decision, to, uh, reconsider the offer," she mumbled.

Molly's stutter, although never appeared when talking to Briallen or when she was in Science, became painstakingly apparent now.

Reading over the letter, John said "Well, Molly, I think that this is a fantastic opportunity that you should seriously consider."

The diminutive teen just nodded, and took the letter back, shoving it into her purse. Her mobile went off. "That'll be my aunt. I should probably be going, now."

"Do you need a lift?"

"No, thank you though. I, uh, live just around t-the corner now, so-"

"I'll walk her, Daddy. Lis will be by in about twenty minutes. I should be back by then."

"Studio or gym today?"

"Studio."

**SHSHSHSH**

"Feet off the table, Prim." The thirteen year old, in sweatpants and a sports bra with both wrists and feet wrapped, rolled her eyes and removed her leg from the table with which she was using to stretch.

She slid first into a side straddle, and then a split, continuing to stretch.

"Are you sure you don't want to take today off? You've been at it all week."

"Daddy, if I want to make Nationals, I have to train. Nick says that if I keep it up, in a few years I might qualify for Olympic tryouts."

"But you're not even going to the gym today. It's a dance day. You're strongest at floor routines. One day off won't kill you."

The teen was now in a back bend. "Yes it will."

As John started to respond, a knock on the door cut him off. Briallen did a front walkover and stuck it right in front of the door. She opened it, and took a step back, mortified.

"Oh my God, Molly, what happened? Daddy!"

The doctor ran to see what was wrong, and Sherlock came sprinting from the other room.

Molly stood in the doorway, her eye black and blue, and her right arm stuck out at an odd angle.

"He found me."

**SHSHSHSH**

The detective sat in one of the waiting room chairs with his partner, watching his daughter go from standing there, trying to see into the room, to pacing back and forth, to trying and being turned away from entering the room. Greg was in there talking with Molly, and so far no one else had been allowed in to see her.

"How could this happen," Sherlock softly asked John. "She hasn't been with her parents in almost five months."

"It's because her father's a stalker and if I ever see him again, I'll kill him with my bare hands," his daughter shouted at him.

"I don't know what's worse; the fact that I believe her, or the fact that I wouldn't stop her," John said.

The doors to Molly's hospital room opened, and Lestrade came out, along with Sarah, a fellow doctor and friend of John's.

"You can see her now," the D.I. gently told Briallen. She rushed in, while Sherlock pulled Greg aside to speak with him. John spoke quietly with Sarah.

"How bad?"

"Pretty bad. A broken arm, black eye, and three bruised ribs. She's honestly lucky there wasn't any hemorrhaging. She'll have to stay here for the next couple of days for observation."

The detective looked his friend straight in the eye. "Do you have him in custody yet?"

"I have my best men searching the city for this guy. Don't worry Sherlock, we'll catch this bastard."

**SHSHSHSH**

John winced as his daughter slammed her door.

"Well, she's pissed. Hope you're happy, Sherlock."

"John, I-"

"This was our chance, Sherlock! Our chance to help Molly for good this time, not just to make sure that she gets carted off to another home. What is your opposition to adopting her?"

"John, it wouldn't help! We had this same discussion about Briallen. She's been taking self-defense since she was four, and she's twice as strong as either of us; she can defend herself. That's why I trust her here alone. Molly hasn't. If something were to happen, Molly wouldn't be able to defend herself. You said it yourself: 'We get nut jobs in here all the time.' She'd only be in more danger here."

"I highly doubt that, Sherlock. And you might think that Prim is completely fine here alone, but I'll tell you this right now: It terrifies me when she's here alone!"

"Exactly my point, John! Molly wouldn't be any safer here than in any other home. If she gets put in care of someone in, say, Chisick, she'd be far away from this flat. The more time she spends here, the more likely it is that her father will find her again."

"At the expense of her and Briallen's friendship?"

"It's not like they'd ever see each other. It's the best for Molly-"

"No, it's not! It would do nothing to help either Molly or Prim."

John stopped at the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs.

"I'm going back to St. Barts. And yes, I'm walking," she called through the door.

Neither the doctor nor the detective stopped her.

**SHSHSHSH**

"Hey, Molls."

"Hiya."

The hospital was quiet now. It was after nine pm, and most of the visitors were gone. Briallen crossed to her friend, and sat next to her on the bed. Molly leaned into her, and Briallen wrapped her arms around her, pulling her head into her shoulder. The former broke down, and the latter gently soothed her. She had tried to put on a brave face in front of them earlier, but now that it was just the two of them, she let her fear show.

"It's okay, baby girl. It's okay now."

"I was just going across to the store, and he found me," she choked out. "He grabbed me, and started yelling. I-I tried to get away, but he started hitting me."

"It's okay. I promise he will never get you again."

"I don't want to go back home."

"I won't let them take you back there."

"Bria?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't want to go to Cardiff."


	5. She Looks Exhausted

**First and most likely ONLY time I will do a direct continuation chapter. I felt that there was more to this particular story. R&R!**

"Oh, there she is. The log says that she came by at about nine fifteen pm last night. She dropped your name, and the nurse on duty let her in. I'm guessing she stayed here all night."

The tall, stark man in a crisp three piece suit nodded. He let the head nurse finish speaking, even though it was information he already knew. "Yes, thank you." He entered the hospital room.

Briallen was curled up next to her friend on the bed. The latter had her arm wrapped her friend protectively, as if trying to keep her from unseen demons. He studied her; it had been a long time since he had seen her up close. He noted that she had only grown about two inches, putting her at four foot six, now. She was as lean as ever, but he could see the muscles through her shirt. He moved on to studying her ward. The girl was three inches taller than her companion, but was not as muscular. She was heavily bandaged; her right arm was in a cast, her ribs were taped, and her eye was terribly bruised.

The man sat in one of the chairs, and took out his phone.

_She's still here. At St. Barts._

It was only a moment before he received a response.

_On our way. 3 min. Dnt go anywhere._

_ -SH_

There was movement out of the corner of his eye.

"Why are you here," the teen asked groggily. "Did Papa ask you to follow me?"

"On the contrary; I called him. Was there any particular reason that you chose to sleep here instead of at home?"

She gestured to her friend. "Molly needed me."

Just then the door opened, and the detective entered, his partner opting to stay outside.

"It's about time you got here, Sherlock."

"Thank you. For last night and for this. I never asked you to do it."

"Well, considering I was getting contacted by half of my spies, all of whom telling me that my niece was walking out alone, at night, and was a considerable distance from her home, I figured I should check what was going on."

"You had spies on me? Am I always being watched? How long has this been going on?"

"Yes, yes, since you could walk across the street unaided. I'm actually surprised that you didn't tail her yourself, brother."

"I was going to. I was leaving when you texted me. She had only been gone five minutes."

"I told you when she was first brought home, brother, that she was going to need constant surveillance. She is, after all, your daughter."

"She's perfect capable of handling herself, Mycroft, thank you very much."

"Can you two stop talking about me as if I'm not right here? And if you don't keep it down, you'll wake her up."

"Too late," the other murmured.

She tried to sit and up, but required the assistance of her friend. "Why is,uh, everyone i-in my room?"

"We were just about to leave, Molly-"

"I'm not leaving her."

"Praeclarus, you have practice today, and you just spent the night here. It's time to go."

"No! You can't make me go. I am staying here with Molly. I have to protect her."

"She's perfectly safe here."

"That's what you said about Susan and Chris' flat, and he still got to her! Since I'm obviously the only one who actually cares about her safety, I'm staying."

Molly tried to interrupt, but was silenced by Briallen.

"Molly, I'm not going anywhere."

The detective let out a long, exasperated sigh before trying again, his tone careful. "Briallen, it's won't do Molly any good if you stay hovering over her. She needs to be able to rest, and she needs space."

His daughter looked him straight in the eye. "No. I am not leaving her, and I'm not going back home just to hear you and Daddy fight."

Mycroft looked at his brother. "You two have been fighting?"

"He sleeps on the left side of the bed. He also happens to sleep on his left side as well. His right hand is red, indicating that he slept on it, meaning he slept on right side last night, not the left. His eyes are bloodshot, meaning that he either didn't sleep, or had difficulty sleeping. The fibers in his hair match those of the couch, all meaning that he slept there last night. Daddy's eyes are just as bloodshot, meaning he slept poorly last night as well. He didn't follow you," she spoke to Sherlock now, "Into this room, and you two were standing more than three feet apart, indicating that you two currently aren't on good terms. Before I left, I heard both of you arguing. I'm honestly surprised that you couldn't tell, Uncle Mycroft."

Her uncle just stood there, staring at her in awe. "It's incredible how she does it."

"And it's worse that she's correct."

**SHSHSHSH**

Briallen refused to talk to anyone on the cab ride home. It had taken the head nurse ordering everyone out of the room to get her to leave. She stormed into her room, and stayed there for several hours. The two men heard her violin several times; she kept playing loud, fast pieces, and intense ones at that.

Sherlock sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. His partner stood not far away, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, staring at the floor.

There was silence from Briallen's room for a moment, and then the sound of what must've been a book thrown against a wall.

"She's angry."

"Yeah, no shit Sherlock." The doctor's tone was biting.

Sherlock sighed. "John, listen: If this is about Molly-"

"I am no longer going to have this conversation with you, Sherlock."

Another loud crash, this time sounding of her music stand being thrown across the room made John actually go upstairs to try to intervene. At first, their conversation was inaudible, but both voices slowly started to rise.

"You can't make me!"

"The hell I can!"

"I'd like to see you try!"

"That's it! No gym. No studio. Three weeks!"

"You can't do that-"

"It's already done."

When John went back downstairs, albeit a decent amount of screaming and crashing on his daughter's part, Sherlock was nowhere to be seen. The skull was displaced, however, and when John checked, the stash of cigarettes he had tried to keep from Sherlock was missing.

_Brilliant. My daughter hates me, and my partner's smoking again. That's just bloody fantastic._

**SHSHSHSH**

D.I. Lestrade was ready to get pissed. It'd been a long day at the Yard, and he hadn't been able to reach Sherlock Holmes all day, just making his job harder than usual. He was expecting a quiet night of booze and telly. He was not expecting the thirteen year old daughter of two of his best friends' to be knocking on his door.

"Greg, I need a place to sleep tonight."

"Come in. Do your parents know you're here?"

"No. I snuck out the window."

"Is everything alright?"

"They're fighting. I don't want to spend the night in the flat."

He got the teen settled on the couch, and after she fell asleep, made a call to her parents.

"Thank you so much, Greg. We'll be over in a tick to get her."

"Actually, John, I think that she should stay the night. She's already asleep, and mentioned that you ad Sherlock were fighting."

Silence was all he received. The D.I. continued speaking.

"It's none of my business, but I think that it would be best if she stayed with me until you two get everything sorted. I made a promise to her a long time ago, and I haven't forgotten. 'If you ever need any help, my door is always open.' I don't intend on breaking that promise anytime soon."

"Greg, although I appreciate the offer, she really should come home. She spent last night at the hospital with Molly. We're her parents; we need to speak with her about what's going on. If she's concerned that we're splitting up, we need to sit her down, and assure her that we're not. Yes, Sherlock and I aren't necessarily on the best terms right now, but that doesn't mean that our affection towards her has changed. My marriage isn't at risk, Greg. Let us tell her that."

"John, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to insist that she stay the night. I'll drop her off tomorrow, but right now let her sleep. She looks exhausted."

"We all are, Greg. We all are."


	6. Defending Hamish

John was just pouring the hot water from the kettle into his teacup when he felt the long, slender arms of his partner wrap around him, pulling him in close.

"Mmm, guess who?"

"Well, I'm pretty positive it's not Mycroft." The doctor turned around to face Sherlock, and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around the detective's hips. He leaned in, and the detective greeted him with an eager kiss. They slowly sank deeper into it, John running his hands through his partner's curls, and Sherlock pulled John even closer. He finally pulled away, but caressed the doctor's face.

"I love you. Happy anniversary," he said gently.

"Mmm. I was going to cook you breakfast in bed, but you just had to get up early today, didn't you?" John teased.

Sherlock winked. "Well, of course."

"Waffles with the works sound good?"

"Definitely."

There was some shuffling from upstairs, and then the sleepy footsteps of a child could be heard working their way down the stairs. A small boy, six years old, entered the kitchen. His curly raven hair was ruffled and all over the place, showing he'd just woken up. He wore light blue pajamas, and carried a brown teddy bear with him.

"Morning baby," John greeted him.

He climbed up onto a chair next to Sherlock, who kissed him on the forehead.

"Hamish, what are you doing up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep, Papa," he signed in response.

"Is your sister awake?"

He nodded. "The roof."

Although he was mute, Hamish had perfectly fine hearing. He had spent the majority of his earlier years in a special school which taught him communication. Quickly learning to sign, he developed a wide vocabulary, very similarly to Briallen. Hamish was incredibly intelligent for a six year old, but wasn't always viewed that way. He did, however, have a love for music, just like Sherlock and his sister. He'd started playing piano when he was four, and now excelled at it. The piano was what he was more comfortable with; he never particularly like playing the violin. As his fingers were how he communicated, the callousing that went along with playing violin was uncomfortable.

There was some noise from upstairs, and then the fifteen year old glided into the kitchen. She kissed John, and then Sherlock on the check before ruffling Hamish's hair, and sitting opposite him. She began signing to him, and the two were soon engaged in a conversation. Briallen, unlike everyone else, signed to Hamish, versus primarily speaking to him. She believed that it helps him with his signing, and he shouldn't feel as if it's a handicap. By her solely signing to him, he didn't have to feel as if he the only one who had to.

"Prim, you're babysitting tonight, right?"

"Yeah. I'll be home by four thirty."

SHSHSHSH

Briallen now always left twenty minutes early in the morning to meet up with Molly at her house. Her foster parents lived farther away from the flat, but Molly still practically lived at 221B. They talked about everything, and were completely fine until they walked on campus. There, they saw Mia, Alex, and their cronies, the most hated kids in school, crowding around another kid.

"Awe, is gay little Richie gonna run home and cry," they taunted.

"You've got to be freaking kidding me," Briallen muttered under her breath, before throwing her bag on the ground and pushing her way to the group. She put herself between Mia and the boy.

"Mia, piss off. Nobody wants to deal with you today."

"What are you gonna do about it, Holmes? Have your gay-ass dad arrest me?"

Turning to ignore her, Briallen helped pick up the boy's belongings, making sure that he was alright. She tried to walk away with him, but Mia followed.

"Ain't it shameful, her dads? Nobody wants to see that gay shit in public."

"That's rich coming from someone whose parents haven't touched each other since you were born, Mia." She turned, and pushed out of the group with the boy. "Just keep walking," she quietly instructed him.

"Say that again, Holmes?!"

"Nothing Mia," she sighed. "I'm not starting anything with you today."

"You've stopped being so mouthy ever since your stupid ass brother came back home."

That stopped Briallen dead in her tracks. Molly could see the physical change that came over her.

"Awe, did I strike a nerve? You parents are faggots, you and your _one_ friend are freaks, and your brother is stupid as shit."

That was the final straw for Briallen. She was used to derogatory actions towards her parents, and didn't care what others thought of her, but as soon as Hamish was involved, she lost it. Before Mia could react, Briallen's fist collided with her face. She heard the satisfying sound of a breaking nose. Mia tried to punch her back, but Briallen quickly ducked and spun behind her, grabbing her arm and pinning it to her back, subsequently lowering her to the ground. The whole exchange took less than twenty seconds.

Just then the principle, Miss Pfeiffer, came running over. "Girls, what is going on?"

"I broke Mia's nose because she insulted my family," Briallen responded calmly. The principle gave her an exasperated look, and then motioned for her to let the other girl go. "Both of you come with me. You too, Miss Hooper and Mr. Brook."

They followed her to her office, and she took Mia inside. The other three sat in the plastic chairs outside the door in silence.

Finally, the boy spoke.

"Thank you, by the way. I couldn't have asked you to do that."

"Hey, Mia's a bitch, and needed that to happen. You're alright, though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm Richard."

"Briallen. And this is Molly. Are you Irish?"

"Yes, my family moved here about three years ago. The accent never left."

"Keep it."

The door to the office opened, and Mia was escorted out by the nurse. She glared at the three sitting there, and Briallen simply smiled at her.

"Miss Holmes, you're next."

Sitting across from the principle was not something new to Briallen. Although her visits were usually for something good: Another scholarship, advice, etc. Pfeiffer was the one teacher who Briallen had a close relationship with. She was lesbian, and Briallen had always felt she could come to her when she was struggling with bigoted students. After she closed the door, Miss Pfeiffer' dropped the stern principle act and became more comfortable with Briallen.

"Bria, what happened?"

The teen sighed. "Mia, Alex, and their cronies were harassing Richard. I stepped in to defend him, and she immediately attacked my family."

"What did she say?"

"She called my parents 'faggots,' and insulted Hamish. She was degrading him because of his speech impediment. That's when I punched her. Before she could punch me back, I pinned her arm back, and brought her to her knees."

Her principle studied her for a second, and the sat on the desk to face Briallen. "Bria, you can't let people get to you like that. You're a brilliant kid, and a good person. You know you're better than people like Mia. I'll make sure this doesn't count against you, but you can't let this happen again. Go home, and spend the rest of today and tomorrow out of school. I'll make sure it's written up as an excused absence, and give you a pass to leave campus. Do you want me to call your parents, or you?"

"I'll do it. Thank you."

Leaving the office, she stopped quickly to retrieve her belongings from Molly. Pulling out her mobile, she sent a quick text to both dads.

_I'm sure Uncle Myc's already informed you of this, but I got in a fight. Pfeiffer's making me take the rest of the day off. Heading to the gym for a couple of hours._

_-BH_

_Alright. Please pick H. up from school later._

_-SH_

…_.We're discussing when we get home._

_-JW_

Briallen smiled at the responses. Sherlock didn't care when this happened, but John did. He hated it when she got into any kind of trouble. She knew that they'd have a discussion, Sherlock would side with her, and John would eventually drop it.

SHSHSHSH

"Hami, are you ready for a movie night?" The only times Briallen would actually speak to her brother was when they were alone.

The six year old eagerly nodded, and climbed up onto the couch. She moved the popcorn bowl over so he could come closer, and he snuggled up against her. He was already in his pajamas, and she wore baggy sweats with an off the shoulder baggy shirt. _Mulan_ is one of their all-time favorite movies, but they were both asleep by the middle of it.

When John and Sherlock walked in three hours later, they couldn't help but smile at the sight they saw. Briallen had her legs stretched out, and was leaning against the arm of the couch. Hamish was curled up in front of her, with his head nuzzled against her side. She had her arms wrapped around him, holding him protectively.

Sherlock carefully lifted Hamish, and carried him to his room. John kneeled besides Briallen, and gently shook her awake. "Love, you've got to wake up," he said softly. She groaned, and unwillingly opened her eyes.

"Can we do the whole, 'No more fighting' talk tomorrow," she asked groggily.

"Of course. Go up to your own room." He lightly kissed her forehead, and she did as he told her.

SHSHSHSH

Briallen slept in an hour, but awoke to find that both of her parents were still home. Settling herself at the kitchen table, she prepped herself for the argument that would ensue.

"Prim, we need to talk."

"Daddy, I know, I know. 'You can't let things get to you,' and, 'You're better than them,' and 'You don't need to fight our battles.' We've been here before."

"Honey, I'm serious. This is the third time this year this has happened."

"But first time it's happened at school!"

"John, she's heard this talk before. You know it's not going to do anything; she'll do it again if provoked."

"Sherlock, she can't just punch someone because they pissed her off!"

"Mia started talking shit about Hamish!" Briallen burst out. John and Sherlock fell silent. "Although it infuriates me, I can handle people talking about you two. When they sink so low as to insult Hamish, I'm not going to allow it. Someone has to defend him! He's six years old for God's sake. People see him signing, and assume he's deaf as well. They talk about him right. In. Front. Of. Him. And I don't care what anyone says; he's not handicapped, and he's not stupid!" There was a moment of silence before either of them spoke. Briallen rarely got this worked up about things, and when she finally did boil over, her dads often didn't know how to handle it.

"Well, that's that, then," Sherlock muttered. He kissed Briallen on the forehead and John on the cheek. "I'm off to NSY. Lestrade said there's a new case."

After he left, neither Briallen nor John said anything. John finally broke the silence after five minutes.

"Prim, I-"

"You have to be in surgery in an hour. You should go," she quietly interrupted, not looking at him. Briallen got up, and went to the piano. She only ever played it when she was upset. John sat there for a few moments, listening to her play a piece she had written for Hamish's sixth birthday, before getting up and leaving.

**Okay, so, you know how I said that I wasn't going to do any more continuation chapters? Well, I lied. Next chapter'll be a direct continuation of this one. Sorry it's been forever! **


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